DARRELL NORMAN: The fever returns

Published: Friday, November 9, 2012 at 6:49 p.m.

Last Modified: Friday, November 9, 2012 at 6:51 p.m.

The fever is upon me again to copy old photographs. This time, I also am browsing junk shops and thrift stores for vintage frames. This time they are for the wall.

When this affliction first struck me more than 20 years ago, I turned the bathroom of my mountain cabin into a darkroom. When the latest onset came, I bought a wide-format inkjet printer.

Like a chronic illness, the old-photo fever goes dormant for long periods but never goes away. This time, I resolve, as I always do, to let it run its course.

In ancient times, before the digital revolution, I bought a used 4x5 enlarger and all the darkroom equipment I could find piled in the back rooms of junk shops. I taped a black shower curtain over the bathroom window and put my developing trays in the tub.

I borrowed all the albums I could wheedle from family members and set about taking photos of old photos with my Nikon on a copy stand. I was a hero when I made and passed out replicas of one-of-a-kind pictures at Christmas.

It was an ill-timed investment. Within a year, everybody had digital cameras, copiers, scanners and printers, so I never again gave bathtub black-and-whites as gifts. I still have all the darkroom gear stored in the loft.

In the digital age, my old-photo fever came out of remission several times, and I scanned and printed some photos on all-in-one printers that featured a scanner, copier, fax and coffee maker. I could have made better, larger and cheaper photos at Walmart.

When the latest of my multipurpose printers died, I bought a photographic printer that uses six colors of ink and makes high quality prints as large as 13x19. With the cost of ink and paper so high, I may have to claim this new toy as a dependent.

It will be worth the cost, however, if we can cover the wall of the stairway with black-and-white and sepia-toned images of our families.

After the bride and I subscribed to a couple of ancestry services on the Web (another passion that heats and cools), we dug up all the photos of forebears we could find.

Some are good, some faded, some cracked or torn. As I scan each of them, I have to decide whether to airbrush the damage or leave the photos as they are, flaws and all.

I have photos that reach back to my great-grandfather, the last of our tribe to wear a beard until I came along. My bride’s collection goes further back. We may have to expand the gallery to other walls, but most are already covered with arrangements of mirrors, quilts and botanical prints. A bigger house, perhaps?

We have pictures of the bride’s young parents with one daughter and two sons and my young parents with two sons. We have pictures of large families posed in their Sunday best in front of a farmhouse along with their mules and goats. The mother holds a framed photo of a child who died.

Here is one of my parents on a bicycle before they were married, he in a white suit, and she in a white pencil dress and a wide-brimmed floppy hat. And one of the bride’s father in the uniform of a sergeant medic in the Army Air Corps.

Just yesterday, we had a noon breakfast at Cracker Barrel (I always call it Cabbage Patch) and, as is our custom, we admired the old photographs scattered through the country kitsch on the walls. I paid close attention to the mats and frames.

Later, we browsed through a thrift store, where I found several cheap picture frames. I passed up the new ones of gleaming metal for the ones of aged wood. I could take out the pastoral prints and replace them with my own. I may go back today and buy a couple of them.

During a recent return of the fever, I bought a posing stool, a backdrop frame and some muslin to go with my new Nikon. The bride wants me to make black-and-white portraits of the children and grandchildren — after she dresses them in vintage garb.

Perhaps we could build on a gallery room.

Darrell Norman is a columnist for The Gadsden Times. He can be reached at darrell.norman7@gmail.com.

<p>The fever is upon me again to copy old photographs. This time, I also am browsing junk shops and thrift stores for vintage frames. This time they are for the wall.</p><p>When this affliction first struck me more than 20 years ago, I turned the bathroom of my mountain cabin into a darkroom. When the latest onset came, I bought a wide-format inkjet printer.</p><p>Like a chronic illness, the old-photo fever goes dormant for long periods but never goes away. This time, I resolve, as I always do, to let it run its course.</p><p>In ancient times, before the digital revolution, I bought a used 4x5 enlarger and all the darkroom equipment I could find piled in the back rooms of junk shops. I taped a black shower curtain over the bathroom window and put my developing trays in the tub.</p><p>I borrowed all the albums I could wheedle from family members and set about taking photos of old photos with my Nikon on a copy stand. I was a hero when I made and passed out replicas of one-of-a-kind pictures at Christmas.</p><p>It was an ill-timed investment. Within a year, everybody had digital cameras, copiers, scanners and printers, so I never again gave bathtub black-and-whites as gifts. I still have all the darkroom gear stored in the loft.</p><p>In the digital age, my old-photo fever came out of remission several times, and I scanned and printed some photos on all-in-one printers that featured a scanner, copier, fax and coffee maker. I could have made better, larger and cheaper photos at Walmart.</p><p>When the latest of my multipurpose printers died, I bought a photographic printer that uses six colors of ink and makes high quality prints as large as 13x19. With the cost of ink and paper so high, I may have to claim this new toy as a dependent.</p><p>It will be worth the cost, however, if we can cover the wall of the stairway with black-and-white and sepia-toned images of our families.</p><p>After the bride and I subscribed to a couple of ancestry services on the Web (another passion that heats and cools), we dug up all the photos of forebears we could find.</p><p>Some are good, some faded, some cracked or torn. As I scan each of them, I have to decide whether to airbrush the damage or leave the photos as they are, flaws and all.</p><p>I have photos that reach back to my great-grandfather, the last of our tribe to wear a beard until I came along. My bride's collection goes further back. We may have to expand the gallery to other walls, but most are already covered with arrangements of mirrors, quilts and botanical prints. A bigger house, perhaps?</p><p>We have pictures of the bride's young parents with one daughter and two sons and my young parents with two sons. We have pictures of large families posed in their Sunday best in front of a farmhouse along with their mules and goats. The mother holds a framed photo of a child who died.</p><p>Here is one of my parents on a bicycle before they were married, he in a white suit, and she in a white pencil dress and a wide-brimmed floppy hat. And one of the bride's father in the uniform of a sergeant medic in the Army Air Corps.</p><p>Just yesterday, we had a noon breakfast at Cracker Barrel (I always call it Cabbage Patch) and, as is our custom, we admired the old photographs scattered through the country kitsch on the walls. I paid close attention to the mats and frames.</p><p>Later, we browsed through a thrift store, where I found several cheap picture frames. I passed up the new ones of gleaming metal for the ones of aged wood. I could take out the pastoral prints and replace them with my own. I may go back today and buy a couple of them.</p><p>During a recent return of the fever, I bought a posing stool, a backdrop frame and some muslin to go with my new Nikon. The bride wants me to make black-and-white portraits of the children and grandchildren — after she dresses them in vintage garb.</p><p>Perhaps we could build on a gallery room.</p>
<p class="italic font120">Darrell Norman is a columnist for The Gadsden Times. He can be reached at darrell.norman7@gmail.com.</p>